


Burning

by Lise



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Suicide, kind of the opposite actually, maedhros looks at his life and looks at his choices, not a happy fic with happy people, recovering Silmarils ain't all it's cracked up to be, stylistically peculiar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 13:09:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lise/pseuds/Lise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the end, what it comes down to is simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burning

**Author's Note:**

> For the wonderful [helcaraxe](http://helcaraxe.tumblr.com), who requested Maedhros' last moments because apparently she likes pain as much as I do. No elves were harmed (unduly) in the making of this fic. Some punctuation and normal narrative structure may have been, however.

“Eru,” Maglor gasped. “Eru.” He stared at his palms as though he’d never seen them before, as though they weren’t his. “My hands-”

The Silmaril had fallen to the ground and lay glowing too brightly in a pile of ash. Maedhros’ own breathing felt too loud, fire blazing in his left palm. _And this,_ he thought, but it broke, fragmented, splintered.

“Nelyo,” Maglor said. “Nelyo, it – oh Eru, my _hands-_ ” His voice broke in a sob. 

He couldn’t remember the words. Only the pure, he thought, and his father’s voice flickered into being in his mind, _let the pain be joy to him. Let that fire be a taste of what we will give._ It hurt. _Am I alive,_ he wondered, _am I dreaming?_ There was a ringing in his ears. 

“Nelyo, brother – let go, you’re _burning-_ “ Someone grabbed his wrist, pried his fingers open. The Silmaril dropped soundlessly to the ground, light winking at him, beautiful. Like the echo of a memory. His palm was red, red, red. Did fire burn blood away, he wondered, or…

“Kano,” he said. “Do you remember Losgar?”

“Nelyo – we need to get out of here.” Maglor tugged at his arm, and then let go with a noise of pain. “We need to-”

“The fire was red on the water,” Maedhros said. “I remember watching – and it was the same at the Havens.” His hand was burning still, like the ships, like his father, like his brothers’ bodies. The rest of him, though – still cold. His heart a cold lump in his chest, like coal. Like slag from the forge, unusable and ugly. 

“Nelyo, look at – look at me.”

 _It’s all been leading here,_ Maedhros thought. _Every step, and this-_

All the others dead and gone and they, lingering, like ghosts. (Do ghosts burn?)

“Nelyo!” Maglor’s voice was like a slap, cracking, breaking, like ice (oh, betrayer, Findekáno, I’m sorry) and he jerked back to himself. (What was left of himself.) “ _Please._ I need you – I need you to stay with me.” Maglor’s eyes were dark and frightened and Maedhros remembered-

(“Give it up, Nelyo! The world’s broken open! It’s _over,_ can’t we just-”)

“I’m sorry,” he said. Maglor took a ragged breath. 

“Please…let’s go.” His hands. His brother’s beautiful musician’s hands, ruined, like so much else. His eyes fixed on them and he felt sick. “Nelyo. It’s over.”

Over. Yes, that. “It’s been over for a while,” he murmured. _The Valar,_ he thought. _I wonder if they knew. If they saw and stood back and waited for us to dance our ways to death. Were we made to be anything but what we are?_ “Do you think they knew from the beginning?” He asked blankly. Maglor’s expression flickered. 

“What?”

“The Valar,” Maedhros said. “Do you think they knew?”

( _And he could see Doriath, the shadow under the trees, Celegorm’s dull eyes staring upward at nothing, three pyres burning, do you think we will survive this, do you even want to survive this_ )

Maglor’s breath shuddered audibly in his throat. “You’re scaring me.”

“All along,” Maedhros breathed. Leading them here. Like sheep to slaughter. 

Had he known?

Had he borne them here to die like all the rest?

“I’m sorry, Kano,” he said again. 

“Yes,” said Maglor, his voice heavy. “I know.”

\--

They’d argued. Sometimes it seemed as though that was all they’d done since the Havens, argue over what needed to be done, chase each other in endless circles, unless Maglor was with Elwing’s sons. As though, Maedhros thought, he could mend all the death if he saved just these two.

They’ll hate you, Maedhros had told him, cruelly. When they’re old enough to understand, they’ll hate you, and be right to. Maglor had turned his back, saying nothing.

A tenuous balance, weak and fragile. And then, after the world had shaken apart, after word had come of Morgoth’s fall and the Silmarils-

_How do you think this is going to end?_

_Does it matter? We have a responsibility. We swore an_ Oath.

_Then let it be broken! Look at the world, Maitimo. Look at what’s become of us. Do you think this is really what he would want, what our brothers-_

_You would have us simply be foresworn, then? And render our brother’s deaths meaningless?_

_They were already meaningless!_ Maglor had yelled, hands trembling, his voice rising sharply, and Maedhros’ stomach turned. _They died for nothing, must we do the same? Why can’t we-_

_You can’t just run away from this! You can’t hide away pretending you will be absolved._

_And what about Elrond and Elros,_ Maglor demanded, _what about them? What about our responsibility to them-_

 _Don’t appeal to my compassion,_ Maedhros snapped. _I have none left._

And here, now: “We can go back,” Maglor said. _To where,_ he thought. _To what?_

“Your hands,” Maedhros said dully. His own still burned, throbbed. He couldn’t keep down a sort of strangled laugh. “We’re burning. Just like – like-”

“We’ve done enough,” Maglor said. Pleaded. 

_Oh yes,_ Maedhros thought. _We’ve done enough._ He imagined going back, all his sins stamped on his palms for all to see. What atonement was there? What forgiveness?

 _This isn’t_ , he thought, _my world. I’m a ghost in it. I’ve been dead for years. Both of us._

(You know what remains.)

“I’m sorry,” he said again. The world felt simultaneously raw and distant, chafing at his skin and detached with nothing holding him to earth. Too clear and faded. (You know.) _This is what you were running toward, all along._

_What are you waiting for?_

“Nelyo?”

He stretched out his hand and-

\--

At the Havens, the waves boiled in white foam over the rocks far below, and he looked over the sea. How far they’d come, he thought. How far…

(There’d been gulls at Alqualondë, circling overhead, their cries loud in the silence after, and Fingon’s eyes dull with horror, _what have we done_ )

(Later, dull with death, and Maedhros had looked down at his ruined body and thought _how_ , that was all, just _how_ )

 _Spirit of Fire,_ they had called his father. The world was burning, and split open, mouth gaping wide. Fire far below, reaching up for him. _You know what you need to do._

 _We’ve done enough._

He cradled fire to his chest and stood, stepped back. Maglor’s eyes were wide. He didn’t see it. He didn’t understand. _Oh brother,_ he thought, but it stopped there. 

“Maitimo?”

It was easier to fall than stand. In that moment, Maglor moved, lunged, reached for him, but it was already done. His brother’s mouth moved as though to cry out, but there was only the sound of his heart in his ears. Thundering. _Let it end here. Let it all end here._

( _We don't have to do this,_ Maglor said, and Maedhros barked a laugh. 

_Yes,_ he said, _yes we do._ )


End file.
